


Memory Lane

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [20]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:30:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: Does sex in a pickup truck in Iowa count as public sex?
Relationships: Kirk/Brandt
Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1524224
Kudos: 1





	Memory Lane

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1998 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #20 in the entire series, and part of the Stories of the First Five-Year Mission (2264-2269).

Kirk ordered another beer and leaned back against the bar to survey the room, pleased to see how little the place had changed over the years. Whenever he came home to Iowa, he tried to stop in at the Amber Wave at least once. Tonight it was fairly quiet, typical for midweek. A few old friends, some new faces, a slap on the back from the bartender, a wink from an old flame. Ahhh.

A loud groan drew his attention to the action at the pool table, where Brandt had just muffed another shot.

He shook his head, smiling. Suzanne excelled at many things, but apparently pool was not one of them. Still, as long as she took her time as she bent over each shot, no one seemed to mind. In fact, he suspected that his high school rival's invitation to "shoot some stick" had nothing to do with pool, and everything to do with how nicely Suzanne filled out the seat of her jeans. Oh well. At least she wasn't in danger of being beaten up, as had been the case when he brought Spock to this tavern.

After quietly observing several games, the Vulcan had expressed a wish to join in. He introduced himself to his opponent, who happened to be the local champion, and explained that he had never played before. He then calmly proceeded to run the table.

Kirk chuckled, remembering Spock's response to being told how unwise it was to beat the pants off of someone after announcing that you had never played before.

"But, captain, from what I observed, all that is required in this game is a rudimentary knowledge of physics and geometry. I wished to play only to ascertain if there was something more involved. There is not."

Kirk's reverie was interrupted by the arrival of his beer and Brandt asking, "Why didn't you order one for me?"

"I thought you'd be at the table for a while. But now that I've seen you play, I realize the error of that assumption."

Catching the bartender's eye, he gestured for another beer.

"I'm a little rusty," she explained.

"*Rusty*? The list of games that you play badly is getting pretty long. Poker, chess, pool--"

She dismissed all three pastimes with a wave of her hand.

"So what's next on the grand tour? I've seen the hayloft--which was not the fun-filled romp I was promised--"

"I didn't know you were allergic to hay."

"Neither did I."

He raised his mug to hide a smile as he remembered Brandt, half-dressed and sneezing so hard that she fell off the ladder.

"I've ridden the wildest horse in the county," she continued, "and I have the bruises to prove it. I've been stung by a wasp at the swimming hole. I've been knocked into the muck by an angry sow--"

"Are you trying to tell me that you're not having a good time?"

"No, but I'm surprised you survived a childhood in such a dangerous place. I've felt safer with a dozen Romulans breathing down my neck."

Her beer arrived and Kirk picked up both mugs.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the back of the room. "You're going to learn to shoot a decent game of pool."

As Jim and Suzanne passed the game in progress at the center table, several of the older patrons exchanged knowing glances, remembering Jim's father and brother in their bachelor days. It had been a few years since they'd seen one of the Kirk boys tutor a pretty woman in the fine art of pool. Nice to see that the blood ran true.

***

"Now," Kirk said as he racked up the balls on the rarely used table in the corner, "the key to pool--like so many things in life--is a nice, even stroke."

"Uh huh," Brandt said dryly as she chalked her cue.

"Get ready to break." He walked around her to observe her stance. "All right, not bad." He put his hands on her shoulders. "But you're much too tense. Just relax." He leaned in until their bodies were pressed snugly together. "Ease up," he whispered as he closed his hands on hers. "Don't clutch the stick. Just let it rest there, nice and easy. See how smoothly it moves if you let it." He gently stroked the stick back and forth over her fingers. "Now keep it relaxed, don't jerk it, but you want to give it a good, sharp knock, like...*this*."

Crack! The balls scattered and the thirteen dropped into a side pocket.

"Felt good, didn't it?"

He kissed her ear and she pulled away sharply.

"Jim! We're in public!"

"*Relax*." He straightened, drew her close, and rocked her gently from side to side. "We're on leave, remember?"

And, just to prove how much on leave he was, he slipped his hands into her back pockets, and squeezed.

"Is this what they call dirty pool?" she asked.

"Perhaps."

He smiled at her, thinking how much he'd enjoy bending her back over the green felt. Ah, well. Save that for the pool table in his mother's basement. One last pinch and back to the lesson.

Rubbing his hands together energetically, he said, "Let's go after the four." He squeezed her shoulder and pointed at the ball in question. "Now, if you hit it directly, you'll sink it but you'll probably scratch. So..."

She bent over the table and he spooned her once more.

"Is this the same man who won't shadow dance with me?" she asked.

"Ah ah ah! None of your sass, young woman."

She stared at him in disbelief. This trip to Iowa was certainly an eye-opener.

"Now pay attention. Look where the four is. You want to bounce the cueball off the cushion and side-swipe it very gently."

He pointed with one hand and side-swiped her bottom with the other.

"What exactly am I supposed to be learning here?"

"Concentration," he replied smoothly. "Eye on the ball, Suzanne."

Kirk ran his fingers down her arms until his hands rested on hers. Dropping his voice to the low tone that had coaxed a variety of creatures into following his lead, he said, "All right. Loosen your grip. That's right. Give it a couple of easy strokes, just to get the feel of it. Good. Now...slow breath in...slow breath out...and...just...kiss it."

The cueball rolled toward the corner, bounced lazily off the cushion, and nudged the four ball into the hole.

"Nice," he said, giving her a congratulatory pat on the ass. "Very nice."

She wondered if he was complimenting her shot or her anatomy.

"Now do the same thing to the fifteen," he instructed.

He walked around to the other side of the table and stood at the far corner, tapping his index finger against the cushion.

"Put it right here, Suzanne. Don't look at the fifteen ball. Look where I'm pointing. Right here."

Noting what part of his body was right behind his finger, she pursed her lips happily. Nice. Very nice.

She put quite a bit of muscle into the stroke, and the ball smacked into the siderail under Kirk's finger. Jumping back from the table, he shot her a sharp look as the white ball slam-dunked the fifteen and rearranged several others before rolling to a stop.

Teacher and student eyed each other across the table.

"Sorry, JT," she said innocently. "Could you show that to me again?"

***

Fifteen minutes later, there was only one ball left on the table.

Standing behind Brandt with his arms crossed under her breasts, Kirk nuzzled the back of her neck and whispered, "All right, do this last one on your own. It's the eight ball, so you have to call it."

He moved away, and she pointed her cue at the hole nearest the ball.

"Eight ball in the corner pocket."

He nodded his approval. "You called it. Now do it."

After trying several awkward approaches to the cueball, she retrieved the bridge from a nearby stand. As she set it on the felt, Kirk coughed discreetly.

She looked up. "What?"

"The bridge," he murmured.

"What about it?"

"It's for sissies."

He could've sworn he saw her backbone turn to steel as she removed the bridge from the table.

Squinting carefully along the line of her cuestick, she caught a glimpse of Kirk as he settled into a nearby chair. Eyes twinkling, hands folded under his chin, legs crossed, he looked very pleased with himself. Too pleased. She paused thoughtfully as the devilish side of her nature kicked in.

The hayloft. The wasp. The horse. The sow. And this so-called *lesson*. After all that, do you *really* want to give him this one?

"Brandt, are you playing pool or waiting for a shuttle?"

She straightened decisively, walked to the other end of the table, and with no preparation whatsoever, executed a stunning thunderbolt of a shot that sent the ball racing around the table. Bam! Bam! Bam! It bounced off three sides and sank the eightball with a resounding clatter.

Frowning, she patted the table and said, "The cushions are a little tired, don't you think?"

Kirk rose slowly and walked to the rack where Brandt was putting away her cue.

"You little sandbagger."

"Jim." She turned and put her arms around his neck. "Give credit where credit is due. You are an *excellent* teacher."

She pulled his head down into a deep kiss that more than made up for that last shot.

***

As they walked through the parking lot, Kirk reflected on the events of the past two days. Only one thing had gone the way he had planned. He had successfully disengaged his mother's daughter-in-law-seeking sensors, and the two women actually got along. In fact, earlier in the day, he had found them laughing very hard over something they refused to share with him. Oh, well, he'd pry it out of Suzanne later.

Putting that and the pool lesson out of his mind, he decided that the rest of the evening was going to go exactly as planned.

When they reached the truck, Brandt reached for the door control but before she could activate it, Kirk backed her up against the cab and began kissing her aggressively.

"JT," she gasped.

"Hmm?"

"Whatever you have in mind is fine with me, but not in the back of a pickup truck, all right?"

"For a city gal, you sure are a prude," he drawled.

"Come on, hayseed," she said as she opened the door and climbed in. "Surely somewhere out on the Great Plains, there's a place more private than this parking lot."

***

As the truck sped along a dark country road, Brandt silently reviewed the local sights Jim had enthusiastically shown her. The old homestead, the old swimming hole, the old hangout... Seemed like the only thing left was the old make-out spot.

She glanced over at Kirk and noted the bulge in his jeans.

Yes, definitely the old make-out spot.

Well, she was pretty sure she remembered how the routine went. Teasing, kissing, touching, some reluctance on her part, and some coaxing on his. There was no doubt about how it would end, but still, it had been a long time since she'd been sweet-talked into doing something against her better judgment. And never by Jim.

That alone would be worth a little play-acting.

She smiled in wicked anticipation as she carefully considered how far to go before drawing the line. And how hard to make him work at crossing it.

Suddenly feeling twenty years younger, she scooted across the seat.

***

Jim's arm curved around Suzanne's shoulders as he turned the truck off the main road. He hugged her to his side, and she absently ran her fingers along his inseam. After a few minutes, he shifted his position, and, to his disappointment, she withdrew her hand. Then she turned and curled snugly into him.

"Jim?"

"Mmm?"

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

She rested her head on his shoulder, letting her hand drop once again onto his thigh. He took a sharp curve a little too quickly and she sat up and braced her hands against the console.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"Maybe I should move over."

"No, don't. I'll be careful. And this truck has every safety buffer you can imagine, including an automatic override in case the driver does anything really stupid."

His arm closed around her again and she settled against him.

"Well...all right. But be careful."

They rode in silence for several kilometers. When they were surrounded by open farmland, his hand flopped over her shoulder and started a sneaky foray into more interesting terrain. She stopped the invader, turned her head and bit the forward troops.

"Ow!"

"After that curve back there, I would think you'd use both hands," she said pointedly.

Scarcely believing she'd played right into the oldest joke in the book, he grinned and said, "I'd love to oblige you, Brat, but I need one for driving."

She let out a good-natured laugh, then turned and studied the man whose smile still made her heart turn over.

A stubborn lock of hair tumbled over his forehead, temporarily free from his efforts to control it. The faint glow from the controls played softly across his face, making him look just a little unfamiliar. His pullover shirt was open at the throat, and copper hair peeked out intriguingly. There was nothing of the starship captain about him. No tension in the set of his jaw, no darkness behind his eyes. He looked...happy. It wouldn't last, of course. A couple more days in Iowa and they'd both be itching for a problem to solve, a challenge to meet. But right now...

"What are you looking at?" he asked.

"You. I like seeing you like this."

"Like what?"

"Casual."

She pressed a fingertip to his lips and he kissed it softly. She traced a path down his chin and along his jaw. Suddenly wanting to know if his hair felt as soft as it looked, she pushed it back over his ear. Yes, it was very soft. She continued playing with the irresistible texture, flicking it back and forth and brushing her fingertips against his ear.

"Stop, that tickles."

"Oh. How's this?" she asked, gently kissing his earlobe. "Or this?" She gave it a playful nip. "Or this?" She ran her tongue down his neck.

She didn't notice the truck slowing, and it took her a moment to realize that they'd stopped. She looked around and saw that, if they weren't in the middle of nowhere, they were definitely in the vicinity. She also saw that Jim looked much too innocent.

"Out of power?" she asked.

"Yes, darn it." He even managed to frown as he said it. "We'll just have to wait while it recharges."

He put his hands on her shoulders and closed in.

"Jim." She pushed against his chest. "Has anyone ever fallen for this?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say they've *fallen* for it. But a good number have been willing to go along with it."

"As long you don't get the idea that I'm easy."

"Never. And I promise I'll still respect you."

"Good," she said as she pressed him against the door and began kissing him assertively.

Soon her tongue was happily exploring his mouth, running along the sharp edges of his teeth, and coaxing his tongue into a playful game of tag. As the pace quickened, he ran his hand over her breasts and teased her nipples through her blouse. She responded by stretching herself full-length against him, and he pulled her blouse up out of her jeans.

"Jim, wait!"

"I can't wait."

His mouth muffled any further argument as he slid his hand under the fabric and cupped her breast.

Shaking and gasping, they groped each other with growing desperation. He pushed up into a sitting position and worked at her buttons, planting fiery kisses against her breathless protests. Opening her blouse, he sat back to take in the intoxicating sight of breasts rising and falling in swift cadence, erect nipples begging to be touched, and ivory skin shining with perspiration. They stared at each other with a hunger that each intended to enjoy before satisfying it. Suddenly he tore his shirt off over his head and reached for her. She threw herself into his arms and rubbed lasciviously against his chest.

He reached down and opened his pants, sighing loudly as his cock sprang free of his jeans and immediately demanded a different kind of imprisonment. Pressing his mouth to Suzanne's throat, he pulled her hand down to his lap.

"No--" She dragged her hand away.

He resumed kissing her and caressing her breasts, until her short, panting breaths told him he could try again with a reasonable chance of success.

"No--"

"Please. Just touch me. Please."

"No, don't ask me--"

"Please, Suzanne, I need you to just--"

He closed her hand around his cock and held it there. Shutting his eyes, he sighed blissfully into the darkness. And when he let go...she didn't.

Jesus, it was good. Even better than he remembered--better than--what was her name--the first one who had held him like this--Wanda--Wendy--

That train of thought was turbulently derailed as Suzanne's hand began exploring its latest acquisition.

"Oh, yes," he moaned. "That's it. That's so good."

Lifting his hips, he pushed his jeans and briefs down to his knees. But when he reached for the fastening on Suzanne's pants, she pushed his hands away.

"No, Jim--"

"Shh. It's all right."

"No. Just kiss me. Kiss me."

Realizing that was the closest thing to 'yes' that he was going to hear, he pressed her against the seat back and kissed her until she could scarcely breathe. And when he opened her fly, she made a small sound that wasn't 'no,' so he pulled her jeans down and off.

He sat up and whispered, "Come here." He pulled her onto his lap and kissed her deeply as he ran his hands over her thighs and bottom. Now that nothing but her flimsy panties stood between him and release, he could afford to take his time. So he soothingly blanketed her with loving caresses, long, lazy kisses, and seductive assurances.

"Beautiful. You're so beautiful."

She shivered and squirmed and arched and finally pulled away with a sharp cry. She turned from him, panting and shaking. As she pushed her sweat-slicked hair back from her face, he put his arms around her and brushed his fingertips against her breasts.

"Oh, Jim, don't," she pleaded. "You have to stop."

Because I can't.

"It's all right," he whispered reassuringly as he slid her blouse down her arms. "We won't do anything you don't want to do."

But you will want to.

Then he pressed his lips to her shoulder, and she gave a despairing moan that sounded like surrender. And in one swift, impassioned movement, she was on his lap, straddling his erection.

Choking on the hot summer air, she rocked against him, trapping his aching cock against the silk of her panties. He slipped her blouse off and pressed his mouth to the hard nipple that presented itself. She gasped and rode him harder, as her hands clutched his hair.

*God*. If she was trying to evoke the frenzied nights of his youth, she was doing one helluva good job.

Embracing his role enthusiastically, Kirk kissed the tender skin at the base of her throat and ran his thumbs around her nipples. She shivered deliciously, so he did it again and was rewarded with a jackhammer of a lap dance.

Ah! *Ahh!* He thrust toward her and the white-hot pressure in his groin expanded until it drove out all thought except wanting. Wanting it all. Wanting her.

***

"Lie down," he said hoarsely, easing her off his lap.

"Jim--" she started to protest.

He pushed her down onto the seat and pleaded his case between passionate kisses.

"Suzanne, please."

"Jim--"

His lips moving along her throat. "I just want to be close to you."

"Stop--"

His hands roaming over her skin. "I need you."

"Jim, wait--"

Onto her breasts. "Mmmmm."

"Don't, Jim--"

Sliding her panties down over her hips. "God, you're beautiful."

"No, no, don't--"

Past her knees. "So beautiful."

"We can't--"

And off. "Shh. It's all right."

"Please, Jim, we--"

Touching the quivering button between her legs. "This feels good, doesn't it?"

"Ah! Don't do that!"

Petting it softly. "Ohhh, I love touching you. Let me just touch you."

"Oh god, no..."

Stroking, stroking. "This is all right, isn't it?"

"Aaah...yes..."

Exploring a little more. "Yes. It's good, isn't it?"

"Yes..."

Sliding a finger into her. "Yes..."

"No, don't! Jim, stop--"

A little further. "Just this much. Please, Suzanne."

"Please don't do that!"

All the way in. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, but--"

And another finger. "It's all right."

"Oh, Jim, please don't--"

Slowly moving his fingers in and out. "Shhhh. I swear it's all right."

"No--"

In. And out. "Just relax."

"Don't! Stop! Don't--stop--*Don't stop*!"

"Oh, yes, let me touch you."

"God, Jim!"

"Do you like this?"

"Yessss..."

"Then relax. Just...let me...make you happy."

"No--we have to stop--"

"I love you, Suzanne. Let me love you."

"No, we can't--"

"I want you so much."

"I--I--"

"Say yes, Suzanne. Yes."

"I can't--"

"Yes. Just say yes...yes...say yes..."

"...yes..."

"Oh, yes..."

"Yes. *Yes*."

And then there was nothing but yes.

***

Yes, the welcoming wetness. Yes, a gasp of pleasure. Yes, the heat, the rhythm, the sweat. Yes, the closeness, the darkness, the madness. Yes, paradise in the cramped cab of a truck.

Nothing but yes--yes--yes--

Until a blinding light filled the cab and a stern voice said, "All right, kids--"

***

Kirk twisted sharply and looked over his shoulder.

"Oh god," he groaned in dismay.

"Well, Jim Kirk! What do you know. I guess some things never change."

Kirk tried to get up.

"Jim!" Suzanne cried in alarm, and he realized that, if he moved, she'd be completely exposed.

"Sheriff Jensen, would you mind turning away for a moment?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh. Oh, sure." The sheriff kept up an sociable chatter as the blushing lovers scrambled into their clothes. "Y'know, I recognized your mother's truck, but I thought it was probably your brother's oldest boy. Caught him a few weeks ago, out by the reservoir. Same place I used to find Sam. Should've known it was you. Had to be you. You always liked this spot."

Kirk glanced over at Brandt and she shot him a look he didn't want to interpret.

"All right, sheriff. We're...um...uh, you can turn around now," Kirk said.

"Well," the sheriff said as he looked into the cab. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your lady friend?"

"Suzanne Brandt, Dave Jensen...County Sheriff."

"Good evening, sheriff," Suzanne said, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Evening, ma'am." He nodded to her. "Now, Jim, I never thought I'd give you this lecture again." Obviously relishing this unexpected turn of events, Jensen delivered a time-worn speech that Kirk could have recited by heart. "It's pretty late, and I'm sure this young lady's parents are starting to get worried. So why don't you just take her straight home--no stopping--and then head on home yourself. Tomorrow's a school day, you know."

"Of course, sheriff," Kirk replied, trying to keep a straight face.

"All right. Remember--straight home."

Jensen walked back to his cruiser, and Kirk started the truck, which had miraculously recharged itself in record time. He pulled it around in a U-turn, stopped, and stuck his head out the window.

"Hey, sheriff?" he called, grinning. "I thought that speech usually ended with the promise that you wouldn't tell our parents."

"Are you kidding? This is too good to keep to myself. I can see the headline now. 'Local Boy Makes Good.'"

Kirk heard a low groan from the other side of the cab.

"And Jim?" Jensen continued. "Give my best to your mother."

"Oh, shit," from the same vicinity.

As they drove away, Jim turned to Suzanne. One look told him that he was the only one who found the situation amusing.

"Suzanne?"

"What."

"If you were sitting any further away from me, you wouldn't be in the truck."

No response.

He sighed. "Are you mad?"

"No."

"You sound mad."

"Not at you. At--at--at *everything*. This entire trip. It's just been one snafu after another. But getting caught--going at it--in a *pickup truck*! I mean it's bad enough to be humiliated in front of the sheriff, but if word of this ever--"

"May I remind you that I was the one whose ass was waving in the breeze?"

After a moment, he heard a stifled snort of laughter.

"And the sheriff doesn't know who you are," he continued. "As far as he's concerned, you're just anoth--" He cut himself off but not soon enough.

"Just another girl who was led astray by George Kirk's youngest boy?"

"Well...yes," he grinned. "Something like that."

She clucked her tongue. "You must have been the terror of the county."

Deciding she sounded more impressed than annoyed, he relaxed, having safely dodged another bullet.

As they turned onto the main road, she slid across the seat and put her hand on his knee.

"The man said straight home," he warned.

"Oh, Jim," she pleaded breathlessly. "Just this much. Please. Say yes, Jim. Say yes."

He couldn't let that go by, so he squeaked, "Oh no! Stop! Don't! I can't!"

Soon they were shouting the age-old cliches at each other in between boisterous bouts of laughter.

At last, she squeezed his hand and asked, "Do you think the sheriff will actually tell anyone?"

Kirk chuckled. "I'm sure of it. But, with any luck, you'll be in San Francisco and I'll be several light years away before my mother hears about it."

"Well, considering how things have been going, I have to ask--what happens *without* any luck?"

He grimaced, remembering another speech he could have recited by heart.

"We'll be grounded until after church on Sunday."

Brandt frowned. "What do you mean *we*, kimo sabe?"


End file.
